


It's No Secret (Agent)

by obscurial



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Brief mention of a gun (not used nor explicit), Chikage once again puts his fingers in Itaru's mouth, Eavesdropping, I don't know if I can classify it kidnapping, M/M, Oral Fixation, There is tying people to chairs involved, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22906057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscurial/pseuds/obscurial
Summary: He’s played enough espionage RPGs to understand what’s going on here, but he’s not quite sure if he believes that it’s actually happening. It could be an inside joke, or just some weirdo who finds it self-fulfilling to speak like a KGB agent…? Either way, Itaru’s missed his window of opportunity to make his presence known, so he’s just going to sit in the bathtub and hope to God that Double-O-Seven doesn’t realise that he’s here.(In which Itaru accidentally learns that Chikage is an undercover spy by overhearing a phone call at a college party.)
Relationships: Chigasaki Itaru/Utsuki Chikage, Takato Tasuku/Tsukioka Tsumugi (briefly and one-sided)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 166





	It's No Secret (Agent)

**Author's Note:**

> i could NOT let my one and only chikaita fic be the dentist fic. i will NOT allow it!!!!!!!!!
> 
> p.s. there is a situation where Itaru is escorted out of a party against his will but there is no alcohol involved, nor is there any intention of sex. if that is uncomfortable for you, please skip the chunk starting with "one of the perks..." and ending with "... left with Tsumugi now"! please let me know if there is anything else i should be tagging! <3

In hindsight, perhaps Itaru should’ve minded his own damn business.

 _I fully deserve this_ , he thinks, sadly tapping at his dimmed phone screen as he continues to game in the weirdly comforting darkness of an empty bathroom. He’s all curled up in the grimy bathtub of some guy he barely knows, knees to his chest and cheek pressed against the tub rim, the shower curtain pulled across in a sorry attempt at privacy for his one man pity party. What started as a scheme to trick his ridiculously shy roommate Tsumugi to attend the same party as his childhood friend-slash-crush ended in a pretty devastating argument between them, Tsumugi demanding that Itaru was to stay the hell out of his personal life. Itaru had apparently missed the (very important) memo that they weren’t on speaking terms anymore, resulting in them meeting each other face-to-face for the first time in years… which was nothing short of a major shit show. 

Knowing Tsumugi, he’ll probably apologise for being (rightfully) angry after an hour and all will be fine again, so Itaru’s taken the initiative to punish himself in Tsumugi’s place by spending the night in this shitty bathtub. Which smells _terrible_ , the air--already tinged with the scent of mold and piss--plagued with a unique stench cocktail of cheap finger food, even cheaper alcohol and, predictably enough, vomit. Yeah, uh, Itaru’s certain that college parties are _definitely_ not for him. Although, the longer that Itaru stays in the bathroom, he finds that the stench’s potency seems to decrease. He’s either slowly getting used to the consistent assault on his nostrils, or his sense of smell has simply decided to leave the building. He’s not quite sure which is worse.

Whatever. It wouldn’t be a punishment if he wasn’t suffering. He’s just grateful that the wifi’s pretty decent in the bathroom, so at least he’s not in _too_ much misery--

The door opens, a flood of light seeping into the damp bathroom momentarily. Itaru internally groans, silently praying that whoever’s just entered the bathroom absolutely does not need to take a shit because he’s not quite sure how much more stench he can handle. Oddly enough, even after the door has closed, the person doesn’t move, speak, or turn the lights on. They’re just standing there, in the dark. Itaru immediately locks his phone screen, feeling a strange sense of wariness. The door then locks, and Itaru’s traitorous brain is suddenly feeding him a cutscene from every horror game set in a bathroom that he’s played, and good God, maybe _he’s_ the one pissing instead.

“December, August is naked and I need you to make sure he’s not going to get himself compromised.”

Itaru stares at the shadowed figure through the shower curtains, feeling every hair on his body stand on an end. He’s played enough espionage RPGs to understand what’s going on here, but he’s not quite sure if he believes that it’s actually happening. It could be an inside joke, or just some weirdo who finds it self-fulfilling to speak like a KGB agent…? Either way, Itaru’s missed his window of opportunity to make his presence known, so he’s just going to sit in the bathtub and hope to God that Double-O-Seven doesn’t realise that he’s here.

“I can’t. To ensure that my cover is not blown, I must participate in enough social events to--”

It is at this exact moment that Itaru’s phone, timely as ever, begins to ring, the word Tsumugi flashing across his screen like a death sentence. 

The shower curtain is whooshed aside faster than Itaru can jump out the second story window, and he stares dumbly at the dark figure before him, swallowing the lump in the back of his throat. His phone continues to ring in his grasp, in an almost lethargic beat in comparison to the maniacal drumming in his chest and ears. The man hangs up his own call, and moves closer towards Itaru, who has oh-so-conveniently forgotten how to use his legs.

“Well?” he asks, “Aren’t you going to pick that up?”

From his tone of voice, Itaru’s almost sure that even if he’d wanted to, he would be a dead man if he picked it up.

“N-Nah, I think I’m good,” he quietly speaks, tucking the phone into the pocket of his jacket. “Listen, man-- I’m just gonna go find another bathtub to camp out in--”

Itaru miraculously is able to hoist himself out of the tub, climbing out rather clumsily, but just as he wraps his hand around the door handle, he hears a familiar, Call of Duty-esque click, and instantaneously feels his blood run cold.

“I think I can offer you a nicer place to stay, if you’d like.”

If the soft nudge of cold metal against his spine is any indication that Mister Bond might very well be the real deal, the firm hold on his wrist--expertly shifting his arm such that if Itaru were to turn the handle, he would probably dislocate some ligament in his arm--pretty much confirms it.

“Bringing me home already? Gee… At least take a guy to dinner first,” Itaru jokes through clenched teeth. His steady voice projects confidence, despite his trembling hands suggesting otherwise. But absolutely _nothing_ prepares him for how close the spy speaks to his ear, lips barely grazing against his neck.

“Fancy something homemade?” he murmurs, “I make a mean lamb vindaloo.” The second nudge against his spine isn’t quite as gentle as the first. 

Wincing, Itaru releases his hold on the door handle. “I guess I could eat.”

\---

One of the perks of not socialising with anyone on campus is that when Itaru leaves a party with a stranger, absolutely no one cares. On the other hand, one of the cons of not socialising with anyone on campus is that when Itaru leaves a party with a stranger, _absolutely no one cares_. He’s making anxious eye contact with every single person he sees on the way out, the spy’s arm wrapped protectively around his waist, yet nobody seems to notice anything amiss. He turns to look at the spy, which is a huge, huge mistake--his unexpected handsomeness hits Itaru like a fucking freight train. Jesus. _That’s_ who he’s been jokingly flirting with in the dark? Oh well. If he’s gonna be murdered by a spy, he’s a tiny bit grateful that at least the spy is really, really hot.

“Apologies in advance, Peeping Tom,” the spy says the moment that they step out of the house.

“For wha--”

Aaaaaaand the world goes to black. Damn, he _really_ wishes he left with Tsumugi now.

\---

The next time he wakes, Itaru’s not surprised to find that he’s blindfolded, and tightly strapped to a chair, his forearms chained to a pair of armrests and shins bound to the front legs of his chair. What he is surprised about is that his heart (admittedly weak from a severe lack of cardio) hasn’t already given out on him, its persistent beat reminding Itaru of his dire circumstances. Seriously, who the fuck casually runs into Her Majesty’s Secret Service at a college party? If he had known Lady Luck was going to bless him today, he’d have done a solo scout. God _damn_. 

“Predictable. Absolutely predictable. Now tell me, Mister Bond, are you a Sam, Alex or Clover?” he speaks, the crack in his voice immediately breaking his bravado.

No response.

“Hello?” he calls out, squirming from within his confines. “Lamb vindalooooooo? You there? Hello--”

“I am going to _gag_ you if you keep fucking talking,” the spy hisses from about a step away.

“That’s pretty tempting, James Bondage, I wasn’t lying when I said I was hungry.” Itaru’s pretty sure there has to be a limit to how much longer he can use humour to cope before he straight up loses it. And, well, he’s about to find that out today.

“Oh you poor thing,” the spy coos, and Itaru feels a hand petting his hair in an awfully condescending manner. Itaru resists the urge to bite his hand, the threat of a gag still hanging ominously over his head. “I’m running a background check on you right now, and if you really are clean, you can go treat yourself to a real nice meal.”

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe he’s just plain stupid, but Itaru--thought to speech filter be damned--proceeds to blurt out, “Hey, I was promised a homemade dinner.”

The pause that follows is pretty excruciating. Itaru’s just about to spill a river of awkward apologies from his mouth (maybe he’ll finally be able to pry his foot from there, too) when he unexpectedly feels a cool finger against his lips, slowly prying his mouth open. “Still hungry?”

Well. He definitely was not anticipating this, but he can’t quite say he’s displeased. He may be blindfolded, but one does not simply forget _that_ face. “Starving,” he mumbles, obediently parting his lips for the spy to push more of his fingers into Itaru’s mouth. He sucks in earnesty, tonguing the knuckles of his fingers with a sense of eagerness he didn’t even realise he possessed. The spy hums, bringing his other hand to rest on Itaru’s nape, guiding his fingers deeper into Itaru’s mouth. Itaru pants around the spy’s slender digits, barely on the verge of gagging, when the spy retracts his hand, tracing Itaru’s cheeks with his own saliva before settling a thumb on the curve of his chin. The hand at his nape soothes the tender place between his neck and skull, and Itaru can’t help but lean into his attentive touch. 

In the distance, he hears a faint notification chime, and the spy moves away from him, presumably to examine his background check results. He returns shortly, and promptly begins to free his arms.

“The background check has concluded, and you’re free to go. You will not speak a word of this to anyone,” the spy leans in to say, close enough such that his breath tickles the lobe of Itaru’s ear, “Understood?”

At this point, Itaru’s just thankful that none of his suspicious online torrenting or emulators have appeared on his supposed background check. That’s… actually kind of good to know. 

“Crystal clear,” he says, sheer relief palpable in his slightly hoarse voice. He reaches up to untie the blindfold, blinking hard to adjust to the sudden shift in lighting. Itaru watches the spy crouch down to effortlessly untie the rest of his limbs, eyes lingering on his expressionless face. When he finishes, he glances up to catch Itaru’s gaze, the corner of his lips curling into the beginnings of a smile. Itaru quickly looks away, feeling rather embarrassed that he had been caught staring. He then notices the familiar layout of the room.

“Wait, you live in my building?”

The spy laughs quietly, getting to his feet. “Well, not anymore. My cover’s been blown, thanks to a certain _someone_ , so I’m going home.”

“Shit. I’m really sorry,” Itaru offers as he walks to the front door, and the spy merely shakes his head, opening the door for him. 

“It’s fine. I was careless, it wasn’t your fault.”

Itaru looks up at the spy, and senses that he’s stewing in a pot filled to the brim with self-loathing. His shoulders look tense, as if they’ve been carrying a whole world of troubles. Maybe they have. Subconsciously, he reaches out, wanting to knead the knots out of them, only to halt when he realises what he’s in the process of doing. Itaru quickly turns towards the dark hallway to hide his flushed face. “I-- Uh, um, see you. Maybe. Probably not. Take care,” he intelligently spits out. 

As he rushes off like a flustered schoolgirl, he hears the spy chuckling behind him, and it takes every inch of his willpower to not turn back. The door closes with a soft click, and Itaru finally gives in, turning his head back to stare after the spy. God, he _really_ hopes he didn’t accidentally get some poor guy fired. Pulling out his phone while he waits for the elevator, he’s greeted with 12 missed calls, 11 texts and 3 voicemails from Tsumugi. It’s 4am, so he’s pretty sure Tsumugi’s asleep right now, but he does feel like an asshole for worrying his roommate. He silently makes a note to swing by the florist down the road in the morning. People give apology cacti all the time, right?

\---

_Three years later._

“SSR, SSR, SSR, SSR,” Itaru chants to himself, as he decides to sacrifice all of his in-game currency to the Gacha Gods, hissing in disappointment once he glances at his phone screen. _What a waste_ , he thinks. He had snuck out during work to try this limited scouting box, excusing himself on a bathroom break, and now his mood’s gone entirely to shit, which means his productivity’s going to take a massive nosedive. Great. He flushes the toilet (for pretences) and hastily rinses his hands, drying them haphazardly on a couple of paper towels. 

Just as he returns to his desk, he notices that all of his co-workers are gathered near the front of the office, lively and bustling. 

“Ah, Chigasaki-san! Come here, I’d like you to meet your new section head, he’s just come straight from Moscow,” his deputy general manager says to him as he approaches the crowd. The somewhat familiar figure that stands before him turns in his direction, and it takes Itaru every inch of his measly willpower not to buckle at the knees from shock.

“Good morning, Chigasaki-san,” his new section head politely says, stretching out for a handshake with a knowing glint in his eyes, “My name is Utsuki Chikage. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”

**Author's Note:**

> me? writing a fic where chikage isn't obsessed with fingering itaru's tonsils? never
> 
> as always, i'm [@madeoforchids](http://twitter.com/madeoforchids) on twitter. let's have chikaita brainworms together <3


End file.
